


Divinity.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, I am not sure tbh, M/M, So much angst, also it could be sort of blasphemous?, religious!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8348695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: Once, faith had been John's anchor. Then CIA made him abandon it, and float around untethered, until Finch finds him and gives him something to hold on to.





	

Once- such a long time ago that sometimes it seemed like a mere dream- but once, John was a man of faith. Not your typical Sunday church going type, no; it ran deeper than that. It was how he woke up knowing he wasn’t alone; that someone was always watching over him. He was around ten when in a mass, the preacher had advised that people should talk to God every day, about little things, so that when they wanted to pray, it would come easier.

John had taken that advice to heart.

He talked to God about everything. About his day, and about his friends- and lack thereof. About his hopes and dreams and fears. He tasted divinity as sure and real when he was breathing, as when he did when he heard the choir bells. Religion did not feel like an imposition to him, praying not a chore. It was just conversing with his best friend.

He remembered how touching Jessica’s skin felt like. How he breathed a worshipful prayer with every kiss. Somebody that perfect, to fill in every empty space in his soul, had been created just for him. Since he was a child, he had believed in divinity, but with Jessica, he rejoiced in it.

When Kara Stanton made him dispose of bodies of two people he wasn’t sure deserved to die, it was the first time he did not talk to God about it. Not speaking of it would not make it any less true, or less obvious in the eyes of the all-seeing, but he was ashamed. With every spilled blood, he isolated himself from any sort of spirituality; every time he pulled a trigger, he killed the part of himself that believed he could seek redemption. Religion had been his anchor for as long as he could remember, but he forcibly detached himself from it, and felt like he was thrashing away in a storm without a will to save himself.

He never stepped into a church again. Couldn’t bear to. His presence too soiled for a Holy place. He never tried to seek forgiveness, because no amount of confessions would wipe the blood off of his hands- not when he would have to go back and spill some more.

Then Jessica died.

Jessica died and he realized that he had messed up. Jessica died and he figured out that he could ignore divinity all he wanted but the sun did not stop existing just because he closed his eyes. That fate had given him someone perfect as a reward, and then taken it away when he did not deserve it any more… could not deserve it ever again.

He knew he was beyond salvation, but then Jessica died and he realized everything he had touched was beyond salvation as well.

* * *

 

The first time in a long time that Reese felt like talking to God again, was with a gun in his hand, and the rush of saving a life- saving, not taking one, not doubting himself, just saving somebody who he knew deserved saving. Theresa’s face burned into his memory, sharper than any regrets; the first thing he was proud of doing. He opened his mouth to talk about it, talk about how glad his heart was, but he couldn’t form words.

So he tried to find Harold- the man who had been the reason he was feeling something other than self-hatred after years. His cubicle was empty but he got to talk to him. A, ‘I am a very private person Mr.Reese’ in his ear, and that was almost enough- almost.

It became unbearable to not speak with every life saved, and every person who genuinely deserved it brought to justice. He wanted to; he did. He wanted to share parts of himself and not hide anymore, but he couldn’t believe he had the right. The good he was doing could not by a long shot justify all the bad he had caused.

John was beyond deliverance and he knew it.

When he saved Judge Gates’ son though, he couldn’t contain it anymore. The need to share the joy, the gratitude in his heart became unbearable and he breathed out a ‘ _Thank you_ ,’ to the man who had saved someone beyond saving. In response, the said man gave him a piece of himself, a tiny glimpse into the mystery he was, and John felt a smile crawl on his face and a warmth in his heart and thought that if this was all he was ever going to get- he would not complain.

Even though he still never could bring himself to talk to God again, he found someone else to talk to. Someone who would reply to his _‘Are you there Finch?_ ’ with a curt ‘ _Always Mr. Reese’_ and kept his word. So he started sharing little things. Things like which brand of coffee he liked, and how he saw an adorable dog on the sidewalk, and about how smiles came to him easier now. One day John brought Harold a cup of his favorite green tea and when he took a sip, it felt exactly like john remembered closing his eyes, clasping his hands and praying had felt like. So he did it again, and again. It became his morning ritual, his every day church.

Mark found him, and he ended up with two bullet holes. Blood spilled out of his body too fast, and he realized this was the end. Finally, his past caught up with him and he could lie down and stop fighting, and now was when he could call out to the God he had not spoken to in years… but he was going to meet him soon- and there was someone else he wanted to talk to more. So he called Finch, and thanked him, and told him it was too late, that he was not worth it… but the man would not believe in the obvious.

John might not deserve to be saved, but Harold Finch wanted him to be. And he would never hesitate from giving Harold anything he ever wanted.

It became obvious that only thing Harold wanted though, was to save people, even the irredeemable ones. Over and over again. And that included John. So for Finch, only for Finch, he always made sure he came back in one piece. He walked around with the knowledge that Finch was always watching and spoke about things that mattered, or registered in his mind with the assurance that Finch was always listening. At night he closed his eyes, content with the thought that in the morning he would get to bring something for Harold to eat, and when he would take a bite, he would feel a little more like he deserved to exist in the world.

One morning, he woke up and realized he was happy.

They saved a lady- Sara Scofield. Old and frail. Her grandson was deep in debt and was tired of waiting for her inheritance. It was an ugly reflection of human nature. But the point was, they saved her, carrying her out of fire in the kitchen, with John’s arms burned and stinging but the elderly woman safe and secure, wrapped in his coat. She looked at him, and there was such pain in her eyes that he wanted to murder the grandson on the spot- he would not regret it. The asshole deserved it.

But then Sara just raised her trembling hands and put them around his face, tugging. When his face was on her eye level she moved forward and kissed his forehead and said, ‘God bless you, son.’

John had to turn away, and tears spilled down his cheeks because he believed it. Suddenly and wholeheartedly he believed that he had been blessed, whether he deserved it or not.

That day, he went to the church. His steps faltered at the threshold but Sara’s eyes full of conviction of his goodness made him soldier on and step inside. He sat on a bench in the very last row and stared. Once, he had felt a connection here, stronger than he had felt at any other place. Now, it felt like a half forgotten memory. Yet, he closed his eyes and breathed, _“Thank you, for I am blessed.”_ He wasn’t sure if he was heard.

He walked out of the place and realized his cheeks were wet. He touched his earpiece and heard the clicking of keys for a few moments, his racing heartbeat calming down. A few moments later, a calm voice said _‘So am I Mr. Reese. So am I.’_

The rooftop changed things. Standing in the cold night, with the memories of the past haunting him and a bomb strapped to his chest, he was finally ready to make up for his past mistakes. He was ready to earn forgiveness. So he stood there and looked at the skies and welcomed the end, because he was going with no regrets, and if hell awaited him he would walk into it with pride, knowing he did everything in his power to atone for his wrongs.

Shaking hands and trembling frame, but sure and determined eyes saved him yet again. His savior risked his own life- which was far, far more important than his- told him to shove his self-sacrificial streak, and typed in the numbers which cancelled his eminent death. That was the moment he actually believed that he did not need to die in order to be redeemed. He had done his part. Whether he was ever worth salvation in God’s eyes or not, he was in Finch’s… and that was suddenly enough. More than enough.

And then Joss Carter died.

Joss died and he realized that the sun still shone. Joss died and he realized that he still was poison. Joss died and he realized no amount of good deeds made up for bad ones, and he did not- could never- deserve the taste of heaven he was currently living in.

So he ran, and he hid, and he drank. He vomited his guts out, and the tears stains never left his cheek. He pushed the only person who had been his anchor over the last 3 years away, because he was not worthy of it. People he touched- died. It was a choice between himself and them, and he knew which one deserved death more.

Finch was stubborn though. All seeing and all knowing, and with resources beyond comprehension. He found him. John was not proud of the state he found him in- sitting in a homeless shelter, stinking of cheap vodka and week’s accumulation of body odor.

“Go away.” He protested when Finch sat down next to him, but it was weak. John needed him. He needed him like he needed the oxygen, and he would not survive without it. He was already dying, slowly, deprived of the gravity that kept his pieces together, slowly disintegrating into a mess that nobody but Harold could put together into something vaguely resembling a human being.

“I can’t do that Mr. Reese. I need you.” He turned to face him, and then he held his face in both of his hands and uttered with complete conviction, making sure John looked right at him and would t misunderstand. “I love you.” He declared.

And John couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe_. There was not enough air in the world to fill his lungs and he was starving for it. There were words on the tip of his tongue that wanted to come out but sound waves needed a medium to travel and he was stuck in a vacuum. He opened and closed his mouth and a weak whimper left his mouth, startling Harold. Bending forward he rested his forehead against John’s and ordered, “Breathe,” and he did. He still had not learned how to refuse Finch- nor did he ever want to.

That was when Harold kissed him.

And once again, John could not help but whisper reverent prayers of gratitude to anyone who was listening and rejoiced in divinity.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I had been binge watching Person Of Interest until 3x09 when Joss died. And then I just, couldn't handle the emotional turmoil it caused me. This story just ACHED to come out. I had to write it, to make myself feel better. And maybe to finally bring myself to continue the show.  
> If it offends someone's religious beliefs I am SO sorry. The story was out of my control tbh. It just needed my fingers to type it, not my brain to think it.


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